Lee starts camp on Sunday. Itâs a sleep-away camp for transgender kids, and it was a godsend when we first found it. Lee spent his first week there when he was just barely 10 years old, and I was afraid that he was too young to be away from home for that long. He had been living as a boy for a little less than a year. Looking back now, that seems so long ago. This year, heâs going for two weeks. Heâs got lots of friends there, and heâs no longer one of the little kids. Itâs still a godsend, but in a âthis-place-is-part-of-who-you-areâ sort of way.
And that shift? That change in perception? Itâs just one tiny piece of our puzzle. Itâs just one small example of how things that were so scary and so unfamiliar have become part of our beautiful, new ânormal.â
When Lee first came out, my understanding of what it meant to be transgender was limited and biased and riddled with stereotypes. I was confused and scared and afraid that I was going to do this all wrong. I reached out to a friend; the only person I knew who I thought might be able to help me understand. She did even better. Much to my surprise, she put me in touch with another mom who was going through the same thing. That night, I cried to this stranger on the phone. She listened and encouraged me and affirmed my feelings and she made me feel less crazy. She gave me advice and assured me that, in fact, I was totally capable of supporting my child and adapting to this new parenting twist.
I had gone from feeling totally alone and ill-equipped to having a new friend and confidant and purpose⌠in only a few hours. I was shocked and relieved to find that there were other parents like me and that there were ways to find and connect with them. I attended PFLAG meetings. I did a ton of research. I joined Serendipitydodah for moms on social media. I discovered Facebook groups for parents like me. I researched GLSEN and GLAAD and began attending conferences like First Event. I found a great therapist, who was as much a resource for me as she was for Lee. I read books. So many books.
And along the way, we shared our story. Some of these disclosures were planned and thoughtful, like our âcoming outâ Facebook post or the early blogs on this site. Some were nervously anticipated conversations with family and friends. Some were public speaking events at our church or conferences. All were sanctioned and supported by Lee, because it has never been my story to tell. But then there were the awkward ones. The parent I ran into at the grocery store who confused my children and asked about my âdaughterâ while HE was standing right there. The visiting neighbor who asked my boys what happened to their sister. The family members who wondered if it was because âsheâ wanted to be âjust like her older brothers.â
In most of these situations, I was able to use what I had learned to clear up a misconception or educate someone I loved.
Iâve never been an advocate or an activist in the way that some other parents are. I know amazing moms who have entered public debates and sat with public officials. There are parents who are meeting with senators and representatives, petitioning for equal access and rights, who are out there really FIGHTING for our kids. Sometimes I feel guilty that Iâm not more actively involved in advocacy. Sure, I volunteer for an occasional phone bank or shift petitioning in a park, but Iâve always been a little afraid of putting my kid in a bigger spotlight.
Early on, I questioned the decision to publicly âoutâ our child. While he had transitioned in school, and lots of classmates were aware, he could also âpassâ as a boy in unfamiliar public spaces. I know plenty of families who âgo stealthâ and keep that private information private. Telling his story was certainly a risk. But so was keeping it secret. Ultimately, we let Lee lead the way on this one. He was proud of his transition. Heâs proud of who he is⌠and so are we. As a family, weâre out and proud. And it was a good decision for us. We received a ton of support and mostly, people who disagree have kept their opinions to themselves.
At first, I was glad we told our story because I saw how it impacted Lee. I saw how he was able to be himself and own his story. Which is not to say he hasnât endured hate or bigotry. Heâs in middle school. He knows kids talk about him. He sometimes feels judged. He sometimes feels angry or sad or confused because of it. But what he doesnât feel is shame. This kid is not ashamed of who he is. Heâs not hiding.
And isnât that what we want for all of our kids? We canât protect them from everything. We want them to have ALL of the emotions, even the negative ones, so they learn how to deal with them before adulthood. We want them to be comfortable knowing that not everyone will like them. Not everyone wants to be their friend. But your people? Theyâre out there. And you will find them.
Recently, Iâve begun to understand another benefit of Leeâs pride. You see, what happens when you share your story, is that people listen. People connect. It happened slowly at first. Our pastor at church advised a woman to come and talk to me when she found out that her grandchild was transitioning. A friend suggested to another friend that he read my blog. A parent asked if she could pass along my contact information to a cousin/sister/friend.
And before I knew it, I had become a resource. I was now the first phone call for a confused mother, trying to process that her son was really her daughter. I became the colleague that people approached for clarity on question 3. I was the writer whose description of parenting trans kids got shared over 2,000 times⌠because people going through it could really CONNECT. I began to feel as though I had come through to the other side.
Which of course, isnât true. There is no OTHER SIDE of parenting. Thereâs just a new phase. And then another. And another.
But this phase became comfortable. Maybe I didnât need to do more advocacy. I was obviously making some impact. Telling our story was helping people. I saw the effects.
And just when I thought I was fine with that, some more amazing things happened.
I found out that my aunt had printed out a blog post and anonymously left it in the teacherâs room where she worked. She wanted to clear up some misconceptions she had heard. And it worked. There were thoughtful, respectful conversations at the lunch table that day.
A close friend began working with her company to create more inclusive policies. She explained to me that Lee was her inspiration when she talked to her colleagues.
The school changed their policy about segregating kids by sex.
A friend had a conversation with her fifth grade class, who wanted to understand what it meant to be transgender. Thanks to Lee, she was able to explain.
A gentleman at church proudly donned a transgender flag sticker in support of pride month. âThanks to you, I know what this one means,â he said.
A friend contacted me recently with a link to a podcast that she thought Lee and I should hear. We hadnât talked in a long time. It was nice to connect, and she sent me a long text. In it, she explained a little about her job. She, too, was working on improving inclusive practices, especially around gender-related concerns in a healthcare environment. She wrote this: âI want you to know, and tell Lee, that every time we are working through something that could be problematic, I think to myself, âHow would that make Lee feel?â or âHow would that make Amy feel?â If itâs anything less than terrific, it least me to my next question, âWhat would make Lee feel affirmed and supported in this situation?ââ
Guys, I cry every time I read that. Do you see whatâs happening here? Do you see how our stories have the power to make things better for all those who come after us? This friend has met my amazing child only a handful of times. The last time she saw Lee, he was probably 9 years old and just beginning this journey. But she has held this kid in her heart and kept him on her mind as she makes decisions that impact SO MANY PEOPLE.
Sometimes itâs scary to tell our stories. Nobody likes to feel vulnerable. But it is exactly that vulnerability that allows others to connect with us.
That vulnerability and the bravery to share it? That is what changes the world.
I know there are other parents out there, just at the beginning of this journey. Please know, that no matter how you choose to navigate this, there will be ripples. If you start with âI love my childâ and let love be your motivation (not fear⌠never fear), those beautiful, rainbow ripples will reach farther than you can imagine.
